


in ordinary things

by reddoorandlemontree



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-02-03 15:23:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12750993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reddoorandlemontree/pseuds/reddoorandlemontree
Summary: another one of those fics about *that* dress (from the second part of 4x07)





	in ordinary things

She is breathtaking.

That's not exactly news -- she's always breathtaking, even in over-large nightgowns with her mouth hanging open and hair all mussed in sleep -- but in that dress... _wow_.

It's a flimsy yet elegant little thing, with a pleated silver skirt and a strappy top half that reveals expanses of the creamy skin below. Jon can almost make out a mark on her neck from when he kissed her there that morning.

She's talking to Tyrion and Varys about the new leaders chosen in Meereen, Nasquir Sora and Yerzi Lernos -- or was is Drexos? He's not sure. He seems to have lost the ability to focus on anything but the dip of her waist, the little freckle to the left of her navel, the valley at her sternum.

Is it getting hotter in here? Are his breeches too small? They feel tight all of a sudden.

She keeps asking Jon questions, seeking his views on the matter, well aware of the fact that he barely understands the situation in Meereen. Besides, they had already decided on the path they would be taking. All of his answers are delayed and distracted. No, she knows exactly what she is doing.

He vaguely registers that they're to be meeting with the delegates from Meereen, and follows suit as they file out the council room. The rest of the small council go forward, still engrossed in conversation that he couldn't care less about at the moment.

Daenerys leaves after them, walking in front of him now. He swallows when he sees the open back, the line of her spine teasing and taunting him relentlessly. Her shoulders are pulled back in confidence, and he swears he sees a smirk flicker on her lips.

He doesn't think, he just _does_. His hand reaches out to grab her arm and he pulls them toward the right side of the corridor. He pushes open the first door he can reach to find it a thankfully abandoned servants' quarters, only occupied by a counter to one side with empty cabinets above.

"What are you--" she begins, but is silenced by his lips pressed against hers. The kiss is long and fervent, as they pull away only for gasps of air before colliding again, all tongue and teeth and sighs, and she's amazed by the sheer _heat_ radiating from his body.

When they finally break apart, in whatever century that is, he looks at her through hooded eyes, pupils blown, only the barest ring of grey visible around the edges.

"You are _beautiful_ ," he murmurs intently, looking her directly into her eyes. "Do you have any idea what you're doing to me out there?" he continues, pressing his hips to hers.

She blinks, a victorious glint flashing in her eyes, and glances toward the closed door. "We're supposed to be in the throne room. We have ten minutes."

"We've done more in less," he says, propping her up on the counter.

"They'll be here soon, what if--"

But then his hands start sliding up her dress, fingers brushing against her overheated core, just slightly skirting her, and she can't restrain a moan.

He plants sloppy kisses along her clavicle as a finger slips inside. His thumb lightly circles the sensitive bundle of nerves and he feels her nails dig into his shoulders.

He knows her so well, knows exactly the pressure to use, how fast to move his fingers, and what parts will draw what sounds from her lips.

Her head hangs low, resting in the crook of his neck where her breathy sighs make his hair stand.

She emits a high-pitched whine as a second finger enters and pushed and  _oh_.

A moan, low and loud, escapes her, spurring him on because she can almost feel it, that achingly good tension pulled so taught that it may break her into a million pieces, but...

He stops.

He withdraws his hand from under her skirt, smoothes his clothes, and calmly brushes back a loose strand of her hair.

The look of outrage on her face would have been terrifying if she weren't in such a vulnerable state. "What do you think you're doing?"

Before turning to leave, Jon places an all-too-innocent kiss to her forehead, saying, "Now you know what it's like to be teased. See you after the meeting, love."

Daenerys's frustrated scream echoes into the hall.

In the throne room, Davos and Tyrion are laughing, no doubt at some clever comment made by the latter.

He waits by the dais steps, as he always does, to ascend the throne with his Queen.

Said Queen storms in minutes later, looking the very image of a regality but he spots his doing regardless. It's evident only to the trained eye, in the slight flush creeping up her neck, the thin sheen of sweat on her body that makes her breasts glisten, and the wisps of hair that escape her braids.

Jon extends his arm to clasp hands like customary for them, but she shoots him a livid glare in return. For the sake of it, she ultimately takes his fingers in hers. When he goes to kiss her knuckles as they take their respective thrones, she snatches her hand away, to which he tries to suppress a smug smile.

"Daenerys..." he murmurs apologetically, though he can't say he's all too sorry. He looks over towards her to his left but her stoic and angry expression refuses to budge, eyes trained forward.

" _Don't_ \--" she begins, but the grand doors to the throne room peak open, cutting her off.

Jon notices their small council exchange curious, amused grins.

He clears his throat, trying, and failing, to temporarily erase the image of her at the height of her pleasure, wearing _that_.

Missandei begins her reel of titles as they enter, a man and a woman clad in colorful foreign clothing, accompanied by guards.

The meeting goes by as boring as he had expected, something about trade policies and tariffs. Missandei offered to translate the Valyrian for him but he refused her, knowing this was all already decided upon earlier. Instead, he listens to the way her tongue forms the intricate sounds, almost like a low purr with the _R_ s and a deeper sound from the back of her throat for the _H_ s.

At last, as they make to leave with low bows toward each of them, the King and Queen respectfully say their goodbyes, and the heavy doors shut once again.

"You're all dismissed," Daenerys says to those who remain, her agitated tone drastically different from the one she used with the Meereenese delegates. She is already descending the steps on her quick feet by the time Jon gets up, going to follow her.

"And _you_ ," she accuses, whipping around, "what _was_ that, you..." and off she goes, yelling with frustration in some foreign language he doesn't understand. Missandei, however, gasps and bites back a laugh. Even some of the Unsullied guards shift uncomfortably or smile.

Tyrion interjects a profanity or two later, saying, "I'm sure that, what ever the problem is, it can be solved with a--a calm conversation. Wouldn't you agree, Your Grace?" He looks between them with hopeful eyes, not wanting to lose a monarch by the end of the day, but she doesn't budge. "What exactly, may I ask, did he do?"

Daenerys opens her mouth to speak, the anger in her voice already detectable but she stops herself.

"Yes, Daenerys," he asks with a little laugh, "what did I do?"

And she's off again, angry stomps carrying her out the door and toward their chambers as he follows behind, calling out to her.

He goes to speak but--

"Don't you _dare_."

"Just let me..." he tries again with a softer voice. "Hey," he says, hands on each of her shoulders, turning her around so she's against their chamber door. "You're breathtaking, you know. And don't think I don't know your dirty little tricks, Dany."

She opens her mouth to protest but he knows her too well. "Don't even deny it," he laughs, to which the corners of her lips twitch upward.

"That was a cruel thing to do," she says, looking down at her feet until finally meeting his eyes and continuing. "Do you have any idea how _painful_ the past _hour_ has been for me?"

"The entire _morning_ , Daenerys!"

At last, she bites her lip and admits, saying "I know, I'm sorry. What you did was still terrible, though."

"I'll make it up to you," he promises, hands sliding down from her shoulders to rest at her bare waist. She only relents when he squeezes and adds, "twice over."

**Author's Note:**

> hi!! this was just a quick little write, a dumb idea that popped into my head. thanks for reading!


End file.
